Benevolence [H.S.]

Chapter Six

"Bastard from the start, but a charming one at that
Bad reputation but I really ain't that bad-
It's alright, I can't feel a thing."

Harry's POV

The phones been ringing all damn morning, it seems like as soon as I get half a foot out the door the jangling trill just pulls me right back.

Typically, Liam would be handling this. But I've got a mountain of paperwork to bust through-both for clients, and those who see to it that we stay up and running. The phone is hung right over the monstrous metal desk, so in all honesty two of us in here would probably end in a fistfight and zero progress.

Monday's aren't usually so busy, but it's mid-month, which means we've got a load of little tasks from the first of the month that we haven't gotten to yet, plus our regular load, and the end of the month looming which makes us all feel as though we're up against the clock to get ahead of the game. That being said, it all makes for a bit of an edgy mood around the shop.

I'm sweating, nearly 2 o' clock by now and the sun is just beating against the windows and turning the building into an actual people-oven.

I unbutton my heavy coveralls and pull my arms from the sleeves, letting them hang by my waist. Sweat has completely soaked through to my undershirt, clinging to my chest, and I can feel the moisture dripping down between my shoulders.

"Liam!" I lean back in the desk chair to peek out into the garage, "Open the roller gate will you?"

August is my least favorite month. It's fucking sweltering, even being this close to the bay. I miss the cooler days when we could walk down the street without sweat running into our eyes and that stench of liquifying asphalt.

I miss fall. I miss home.

There's a clunk and rattle as the main garage door curls up into the rafters, followed by a swoosh of air that rushes in to fill it's place as the phone trills again.

"Holmes, this is Harry. Mhm. Yeah we got it. Uhm...no, no I don't think so. Mhm. Yeah, no we have the specs here already, did you wanna change something? Mhm. Yeah. No he hasn't even started yours yet, we can up the diameter but it'll be a bit more. Mhm. Sure, yeah we'll just add it to the invoice. Yep, yep, alright mate, talk soon. Bye."

I go to hang up, but rather than put the phone back in it's cradle I make the executive decision to take a fucking break and yank the cord from the wall. We'll just call it a lunch hour.

I really don't mind talking shop with the guys that come in, honestly. At least those who aren't massive dicks when they don't get their way. Those who come in and genuinely enjoy motorbikes and the creative processes of building one from parts here, or modifying another there, the enthusiasm is really contagious. It's nice.

Like Jerry who called just now, he's a great guy. Comes in pretty regularly, once a month or so, and every year he does this massive race. but every year he does this massive race along the coast. The best part is, he only races against his own previous times. I may be a bit biased, though. He's an exclusive Triumph man, definitely not a Brit but he's a café racer at heart.

Last year, he followed 101 all the way up North into Canada. This year, he's heading the opposite direction and planning to meet up with his buddies down in Caborca, Mexico. Sounds brilliant, if you ask me, just taking off and going up against nothing but yourself.